life or something like it
by Los Desperados
Summary: They buy a house in Iowa and live happily ever after. An introduction to the Domestic!AU.


**status **complete  
**prompt **the holiday depression, _ho _fuckin' ho.  
**cover image **google (or tumblr?)  
**spoilers **nada  
**background **PREQUEL to: the domestic!au. Jo and Dean are happily married, still (sort of) hunting, and have a boy named Matt.  
**notice** Merry Christmas to y'all! I hope you're enjoying your holidays, 'cause I'm rewatching the Lord of the Rings and I'm beat. By the way, the Desolation of Smaug is phenomenal, if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. Anyway, I've been wanting to write a prequel on the Domestic!AU for a while now, but I never quite got around to mapping it out. But I had insomnia again last night, and inspiration struck me. Drop a note on what you thought, 'kay? There's no need to be shy. Until our paths cross again, I wish you all happy holidays and a Happy New Year!

* * *

**life or something like it;  
**_and she has fallen in love with a man who has no happy stories—but she makes him smile without realizing that now, all of his happy stories are of her._

* * *

They buy a house in Storm Lake, Iowa.

It's nothing special (there's only so much they can afford with money from a bank account that's not theirs), and the town is just another town, but it's close to Ellen, and Bobby, and even Adam, so they try to make it theirs.

Everything is hastily thrown together and they don't really put any thinking into it — into _any_ of what they're doing — because time is of the essence.

When they're painting the front porch and her protruding belly keeps slipping out from under her barely fitting t-shirt, Jo thinks of how stupid it was to become a hunter in the first place.

As much as it pains her to admit it, Dean was kind of right. The job is not meant for women. Because many things can happen when you least expect it; like getting your period while you're hunting a werewolf; or not being able to sucker-punch that fucker because, damn it, you're weak; or having a one night stand with a very hot, very unstable fellow hunter blow up in your face and an unplanned pregnancy waving _hello_ in the form of an innocent white stick.

But she thinks that it could have been much, _much_ worse (like dying; or getting knocked up by Gordon Walker or, gods forbid, some monster she was hunting), because Dean may not be a ray of sunshine twenty-four-seven — it's okay, she's not either — but he's _family_. And he loves her, in that very special, very odd Winchester way of his, so that kind of makes up for the absurdity of their situation.

(The sex wasn't even that great.

They were at the Roadhouse, both tired and weighted down by a job gone awry, and her hand may have lingered for an extra moment on his shoulder as she slid a beer in front of him.

And then his fingers had wrapped around her elbow, and her mouth had slipped lazily over his, her tongue battling his own in a battle neither wanted to win. Dean had helped her get rid of her shirt and pushed aside her bra in order to slip a nipple into his warm mouth.

She had pushed her jeans down to her knees and merely dragged Dean's pants down so his cock could slip out. He was only half-hard, but that didn't discourage any of them, as Dean fucked her slowly and languidly against the counter.

It didn't last long, and it was laced with weariness and feelings long repressed, but at their climax, Dean had kissed her long and hard, as if apologizing for the lousy laid. He had turned around to give her privacy as she set herself straight, and he had kissed her once again before ascending the stairs and diving into the spare bedroom of the Roadhouse that Ellen reserved for the boys.

Jo had stood unmoving for a long while, uncertain of what would follow and what their tryst could mean for both of them come tomorrow, before going back to tidying up the bar.

It was only a few weeks later that the morning sickness had kicked in and she was calling Dean with trembling fingers to lay down the news.)

The pregnancy itself is not half as bad as she has heard other women describe, but it's not really dreamy either, because junior has a knack for kicking her bladder and she can barely keep a bite in her stomach for the first trimester.

The real trick is managing to get along with Dean on an everyday basis, because she might love him like a fool and he may be starting to love her back, but they are scarily incompatible when it comes down to almost everything.

Dean doesn't know her nearly well enough to pick his words carefully when she's mad, and Jo doesn't understand his need for order in their house, or his unnatural obsession with his car.

They fight day and night, staying mad at each other for days until Dean yields and apologizes. He can never stay angry for too long because, even though the Winchesters keep colossal amounts of angst bottled up, he is ever aware of the baby growing inside her and the last thing he wants is to hinder its growth.

Sometimes, when she is tucked under the handmade blanket she stole from Bobby's and listens to the rain tap rhythmically against the windows of the newly refurbished Winchester home, Jo wonders if this is all real.

It's a strange thing, knowing that Dean Winchester is sleeping upstairs, his child growing in her belly, and that his constant presence in her life is a given from now on. She wonders why he chose to stay with her; why he decided to end his life as a hunter and join her in raising their kid. For everyone knows that the job is to Dean Winchester what air is to humans. It's in his nature, a necessity he can't do without, yet _here he is_, living in the outskirts of a backwater town with her and working at a garage like a normal, law-abiding citizen.

(They still hide from the law, of course, and most of their earnings come in the form of pool hustling and credit card fraud, but there's a _reason_ for it now, other than just gassing up the Impala and putting a burger to an empty stomach.)

These are questions that she can't find answers to, so she asks Dean. One night, halfway through the third month of her pregnancy, she slips into the bedroom that's not quite theirs yet, and asks him.

Dean doesn't give her a proper answer for a very long time. He dances around the subject like Swayze, and eventually Jo gets tired and drops it. It's obvious that he doesn't know why he's there either, other than to fulfill some promise that his own father couldn't keep towards any of his three children.

But John Winchester is a tender subject to delve into, so Jo doesn't ask again.

And so the days pile up, and turn into weeks, months, and while they are not in love and quite a couple yet, Dean sleeps by her side every night, with his arm slung over her waist protectively, because that's his kid she has in there, and he must protect it.

They keep fighting; over stupid things like pie and laundry, and sometimes over hunting and living the apple pie life that they are obviously not cut out for.

(The first time Jo tried to operate a washing machine downtown, it hadn't agreed with her and almost blew up to her face. Dean had merely laughed at the incident after ensuring his unborn child's wellbeing.)

They argue over hunting almost on a daily basis, because it's really all they've ever been good at, and walking away isn't as easy as they thought it would be.

(The question dances on her tongue during each and every one of those arguments—_why, Dean_—but she gulps it down and throws a _fuck you_ his way instead.)

A few days after she had announced her pregnancy to Dean, she sat him down and told him that they had to figure out a plan. Both were avert to the option of abortion, despite the lives they led. They killed monsters for a living, they weren't about to murder an innocent baby for the faults of its parents.

Jo had said, _we can't do this if we keep hunting. I won't walk out the door not knowing if I'll walk back in and thinking I'll be leaving my kid behind. If we're gonna do this, then we're out._

So, they had reached an agreement. They would take up residence in a backwater town and find jobs like normal people did, and only hunt when absolutely necessary. And when they did, they would never hunt together. One of them would always be left with their kid. And most importantly—no deals. Dean had been adamant on that. If anything were to happen to them, they would let it happen.

_What's dead stays dead, _Dean had said and she understood, although she hoped the time would never come when they would have to choose.

So the days come and go, and Jo's belly gets so big that she fears it's going to burst, but Ellen is always there to ease her mind. Dean and her warm up to each other gradually, building a relationship that she has dreamed about but never dared to hope for. He gets her flowers and knives, and barely puts up a fight when she wakes him up in the middle of the night because she is craving pudding.

In turn, Jo makes him pie and cleans his gun, sings _Hey Jude _as she runs her fingers through his hair and stops hanging her bras on the bathroom door (because he is a neat freak, and they freak him out when they are hanging like that). They build a life that's not entirely their own, but they're getting there. They fight and make up and learn each other's kinks, and Jo thinks that loving this big buffoon of a guy is not really as hard as she had anticipated.

Dean is damaged and broken (and fucked up, really), but she's kind of twisted herself, so they can be dysfunctional together. They're happy, in their own way, and it feels better than it should because if there's one person who deserves happiness as a compensation for a shitty life, then that's Dean Winchester.

Jo is home alone when the water breaks, with Dean out of the state on a job with Bobby. She panics, because although she's been preparing for this for months, it's too real now and she's fucking _scared_. She doesn't call Dean, only her mom, grabs the bag she put together a month ago and gets in the car with tears streaming down her cheeks. She doesn't know how she manages to drive to the hospital through the contractions without crashing into anything, but she makes it, and when it's all over she can hear the nurses talk about that little blonde who defied the pain of labor and drove herself to the hospital.

Childbirth is painful, but it pales in comparison to lying in a puddle of your own guts, so Jo doesn't complain. She stands her ground and grits her teeth and _pushes_. She pushes so fervently that she thinks her eyes will pop out of their sockets, so she shuts them. Ellen arrives a little after the contractions become too frequent for Jo's liking, and she stays by her side through it all. It's her who calls Dean, but Jo's too preoccupied at the moment to care about him or anything beyond the small person trying to rip her insides out.

Jo doesn't make a sound through the entire labor, but when she hears her child's cry for the first time, she let out a laugh so hysterical that she thinks she might be scaring it because it won't stop crying.

Dean barges in the exact moment their child is brought into the world and he barely has time to throw her an excited look before he faints. One of the nurses casually says _dad on the floor,_ and all Jo can really remember from that day is that she never expected to laugh so much on the day she gave birth.

Matthew Winchester is born on a Saturday, and he weights barely six pounds. He is tiny and red and so, _so_ frail-looking. He is not particularly amused with this world and is keen on showing his dislike.

Jo isn't allowed to hold him right after he is born, and they put him in an incubator because he is too small. She waits patiently with Dean on her side, until a nurse finally brings him to them a while later, declaring that he's perfectly healthy, despite his small size. _He's a fighter, _Dean says and kisses her hair. _Kinda like us._

Jo cradles their newborn carefully, too carefully, because she's so scared she's going to drop him or crush him. Because Jo Harvelle is not cut out to be a mom, doesn't know how to coddle a baby and she's pretty sure Dean doesn't either.

Except he does, because he holds Matt with such certainty and tenderness that has her baffled. Knowing Dean and his childish mannerisms, it's sometimes easy to forget that he raised Sam all by himself, while John was off on his quest for revenge.

And in the end, it's Dean and his goofy grins that reassure her that they're not gonna mess this up. They'll grow to love this kid as they grew to love each other. And given how handsomely _that_ plan worked out, they've got nothing to fear.

However, Matt doesn't really like them, or his new bedroom (to which Dean is offended because he worked too hard on painting those clouds on the walls), and he makes his distaste known on a regular basis. He whines and whines and then whines some more, but he's _theirs_, so Jo puts up with it, even though she hasn't slept in three days and she's got the Niagara Falls between her legs, and Dean is being more of an asshole than usual.

People say a lot of things about pregnancy and childbirth, and how to take care of your baby, but nobody ever tells you about what happens to your body after you push a small person out of your vagina. She has the worst period the world has ever seen (one that her mother said will last two to three weeks), her hair is always greasy and disgusting, the breastfeeding feels like having her soul sucked out through her nipples, she has a toddler who isn't content with anything and a Dean that's even worse, and the hormones are demons performing a musical in her head.

And the saddest part is that whatever relationship she and Dean have built up to this point comes crashing down, because they are both too preoccupied with Matt and so exhausted, that they can't try for a relationship when there's a diaper to be changed or a vomit to clean up.

They can't fight _for_ each other, so they fight each other. They wake up mad and they go to bed mad. Sometimes they don't even talk through the course of the day, throwing angry glares at one another instead. It's a good thing their home is remotely big, because they can avoid each other when Jo's hormones hit red, or Dean's patience runs out.

Ellen stays with them for five days before Jo orders her to leave. She appreciates the extra help, she really does, but it's making her feel incompetent and stupid. And if she doesn't learn how to take care of her baby now, then she never will. Ellen understands that, much to Jo's surprise, and she's so proud of her rambunctious daughter that it almost brings Jo to tears.

Goddamn hormones.

So, Ellen leaves, but Dean stays and they keep tearing at each other's throats. Their home is a mess that would put hurricane Katrina to shame, their son is colicky and mainly unhappy, and Jo is completely worn out. Dean is in no better state himself, but at least he doesn't need to breastfeed or deal with postpartum hormones. He tries to do as much as he can around the house; he does the laundry and cooks, he washes the dishes and tends to Matt about sixty percent of the time, and he drives to town for supplies almost daily.

And on top of that, he scores eight hours at the garage every day.

Jo knows that she's being too hard on him. Dean is a ray of sunshine amidst the storm that's currently her life, but she feels so shitty that she can't even appreciate that. No one prepared her for this. No one ever told her how hard it is to raise a cranky baby, to keep yourself together when everything's falling apart, and to not blow up in the face of your loved ones.

A month passes after Matt's birth, and things are hectic as ever, but it has somehow become their routine. Fatigue is an old friend by now and Jo doesn't even care about her greasy hair anymore. It's well past midnight when Matt finally decides he has had enough of pulling her strings for the day and succumbs to slumber.

She stands watching over her tiny son for what seems like an eternity. Their little monster is surely an angel when he sleeps. With all the fuss he brought with him, Jo never had the time to actually map him out in her mind. It's probably another motherly thing she does with delay.

(It took her two weeks to distinguish the cry for food from the wail for attention.)

Matt is truly a beautiful baby boy. Which comes as no surprise, given the source material, as Dean says. His face is round and his cheeks chubby. Even though he was born light as a feather, he is definitely an eater like his father, and he has already gained two pounds. Jo secretly likes it when his pudgy fingers fist her t-shirt, or when she watches them wrap around Dean's index finger. His eyes are a deep green like Dean's, but the small turf of hair on his head indicate that he'll be as blond as her. A beautiful mix of them, Jo thinks.

However, the most striking attribute of her son is neither his eyes nor his wiggly fingers. It's his lips. Matt has the most beautiful lips she has ever seen. They are round and full, and slightly parted as he breathes deeply. They are puffy and pink and _damn it,_ he'll be a great kisser one day and he's going to break so many hearts of silly girls that will fall for the smooth-talking, AC/DC-blaring son of Dean Winchester.

And as those thoughts occupy her mind and her son breathes evenly in the background, Jo realizes that she and Dean have created this little man sleeping in the crib. They have created a person, a small miracle that whines a lot and drives them crazy. But sometimes he smiles, too, as if to tell them that they don't entirely suck at this, that it will get better in time; he smiles like the small fucker _knows_ how much they've invested on this family, and the world seems a little brighter.

It's the first time in a very long time that Jo allows herself to cry. And it's not tears of anger or grief or fear—just dreams and feelings that have been bottled up for way too long. She leaves Matt's nursery (not content with waking him up and having to spend another two hours putting him to sleep), and falls heavily on the double bed she shares with Dean, her tears soaking the sheets. She cries, because everything is too damn perfect and she has only begun to realize it. She has spent the first month of her son's life whining about how awful everything is, when in reality, everything was better than any dream she's ever had.

Dean finds her curled up on the mattress, her tears long dried up and REO Speedwagon playing softly on the background. He doesn't bring flowers anymore, and they have already spent hours trying to find a safe place for all her knives out of Matt's reach. It won't be long until he starts to crawl, anyway, and the last thing they need is Matt taking up knife-throwing practice.

He sits on the edge of the bed and the mattress shifts, causing Jo to open her eyes.

"I'm sorry," is all she says, and Dean seems to understand, because his shoulders slump as if a weight is miraculously lifted off of them.

"Me, too."

Jo reaches up then, grasping his bicep to steady herself and pressing her lips against his with fervor. She feels Dean smile against her lips and pulls back to reciprocate in kind.

"I was thinking I should make some pie tomorrow. What do you think?"

He tucks a greasy blonde lock behind her ear. "I think it's a great idea."

She grins at the thought that he loves her enough to not be disgusted by her dirty hair or the fact that she smells like baby poop and talc, and drags him down to lay by her side.

Dean tucks her under his arm and draws his other arm over her waist protectively. And it takes all in Jo not to burst in tears once again, because Dean _is_ her soulmate. She feels cheesy for even thinking it, but it's true. They might be a time bomb waiting to go off, but they have given each other a part of themselves that they know they can break—their hearts. Dean gave up his life as a hunter for their family, and in her mind, this is the greatest sacrifice he could ever possibly make.

And she chastises herself for wasting so much time on wondering why and seeking answers that were right under her nose the whole time. Dean's reason was always simple and crystal clear. She was simply too blind to see.

"Can I ask you something, Dean-o?" Jo asks as she buries her nose in his neck.

Dean wears a shit-eating grin as he hugs her tighter. "_That_ question?"

She nods.

_Why did you sacrifice everything for me? Why did you stay? Why **do** you stay?_

"I think you already know the answer to _that_, sweetheart," he says cockily, and his eyes speak what his mouth won't.

She does.

_(Because whenever I picture myself happy, it's with you.)_


End file.
